


Day Forty-One

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: 30+ Days of TFW Imagines [41]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Reader-Insert, Sick!Reader, Worried Sam, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine being sick and Sammy decides to stay home with you + New Years Eve</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Forty-One

Sam’s woken abruptly by your hasty scramble out of bed. He blinks sleepily, fumbling for his phone, and hears the bathroom door close behind you. He squints at the bright screen. 5:52.

“Y/N?” he calls, setting how phone down. “You okay?” He can hear you doing something in the bathroom. It kind of sounds like you're throwing ip.

Concerned, Sam gets out of bed and knocks softly in the bathroom door.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“Y-yes.” Your voice is barely audible.

He pushes the door open. When he sees breaks his heart.

You’re kneeling by the toilet, tear streaks on your cheeks. As he watches, you lurch and scramble to hold your hair back as you puke again. He hurries to sit on the edge of the tub, replacing your hands in your hair with one of his own and rubbing your upper back soothingly. A sharp sob escapes you just before you heave again. There’s nothing in your stomach, though, so all that comes up is bile.

Finally the bout seems to be over and you slump into a heap on the floor. Sam grabs your cup from by the sink and fills it with cold water. Then he helps you stand.

“Rinse” he orders, pressing the cup to your lips.

You rinse and spit a few times before Sam gets out your toothbrush. He helps you brush your teeth, ridding your mouth of that nasty taste,

“Feeling better?” Sam asks, wrapping his arms around you.

You shake your head and bury your face in his chest.

“Poor thing.” He kissed the top of your head. “You go back to bed. I'm going to grab some stuff to help. Okay?”

“‘Kay.”

He pretty much runs to the kitchen, where he grabs a bowl, the bottle of pepto bismol, and a sleeve of saltines. He also leaves a note for Dean explaining what's going on.

When he returns to the room he shares with you, you're seating against the headboard with your arms around your knees.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the items on your nightstand. “Pepto bismol and saltines for your stomach, and a bowl so you don’t have to worry about not making it to the toilet. I want you to stay here and rest. I’ll bring you whatever you need. Deal?”

You nod.

“I’m going to make myself breakfast. Text me if you need anything. I don’t care how simple it is. Your jobs is to get better and mine is to take care of you.”

XXXXXX

Dean’s in the kitchen pouring himself a mug of coffee. When Sam enters, he grabs a second mug from the cupboard and fills it.

“How’s she doing?” Dean asks, handing his brother the coffee.

“About as well as you’d expect. I hope this is just a twenty-four hour bug, because she’s miserable.”

“I can imagine. Eggs?”

“Sure. I told her to text me if she needs anything.”

Dean whips up some scrambled eggs. About the time they’re finished, Cas comes stumbling in. Now that he’s human, the man is not a morning person.

“Morning, Cas,” Dean says cheerfully, setting three plates of eggs on the table.

Cas just grumbles incoherently and pours himself a cup of coffee. Sipping it, he takes his spot at the table. His brow furrows.

“Where is Y/N?” he asks.

“She’s sick,” Sam says around a mouthful of eggs.

“Sick?” Cas looks concerned. “Is it serious?”

“No, just a stomach bug. She should be fine in a day or two.” He checks his phone. No texts, but it switches it to vibrate just in case.

“But what about the Charlie’s New Year’s Eve party?”

Oh, yeah. Sam forgot about that. “I don’t know. I guess she’ll have to decide whether or not she’s feeling well enough to go.”

“Oh.” Cas falls silent, focusing on his food.

Sam finishes up quickly. He rinses his plate and leaves it in the sink before hurrying back to the bedroom. You’re curled up on your side, eyes shut and one arm wrapped around the bowl. It’s still empty, thank goodness, and a few of the crackers are gone, as well as a some of the pepto bismol. You lift your head a little when he enters the room.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and laying one hand on your shoulder.

You shrug, letting your head fall back onto the pillow. He frowns and gently pets your hair. You close your eyes under the touch.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquires,

Another shrug.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs. “How about a book. A movie? We have a whole drawer to choose from.”

“A movie would be okay,” you say quietly.

Sam jumps into action. “Anything in particular?”

You think about it for a moment. “ _ Emperor's New Groove _ ?”

“For you, anything.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t complain. Sam pops the disc into his DVD player, sets the TV to the right channel, and makes sure to turn on the subtitles. You prefer to watch movies with them on.

“Anything else?” he questions once the movie is playing.

“Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

XXXXXX

You spend most of the day in bed. Sam brings you a bowl of broth around lunch time. That doesn’t stay down for long, along with most of the water he has you drink in an attempt to keep you hydrated. Around three he comes back from a trip to the bathroom to find you huddled under the blankets, shivering and sweating. You’ve been complaining about the cold for most of the day, so the fever doesn’t come as too much of a surprise, but that doesn’t make it any better.

“Take these,” Sam says, pressing two ibuprofen into your hand. He holds the cup of water to your lips, letting you drink to ease swallowing the pills.

“Thank you,” you say quietly,

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, laying down beside you and on top of the covers. He wraps his arms around you and spoons up against your back. “Rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

XXXXXX

Dean brings some of his homemade chicken noodle soup for you for dinner and asks if you’re feeling up to going to Charlie’s party.

You’re buried beneath a pile of blankets, with Sam tucked up against your back for added warmth and comfort.

“No,” you say quietly.

“I’ll stay with you,” Sam says.

You shake your head. “You should go. I know you’ve been looking forward to this party.”

“That was before you got sick. I’m not going to leave you here by yourself. I won’t be able to enjoy myself. I’ll be too busy worrying.” He props himself up on one elbow to better look you in the eye.

“You’re going to get sick, too.”

“I know. Then it will be your turn to take care of me.”

You smile fondly. “You’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

XXXXXX

Midnight finds you fast asleep. The fever hasn’t broken, merely abated with the help of the ibuprofen. Sam is awake still, keeping watch for any change in your condition. When he looks up and sees the time, he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Happy New Year,” he murmurs.

Two days from now, it will be you woken in the early hours by Sam’s rush to the bathroom and you who will hold his hair out of his face. But for now, it’s his turn to take care of you.


End file.
